Trigger Happy
by RyukInPerson
Summary: Without a weapons dealers anonymous, Don Kane is struggling to kick the habit. On the run, he encounters Fiona, but will she aid him or be the one to pull the trigger? A oneshot spinoff that occurs before the events of related story How It Burns.


Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice.

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This is a oneshot spinoff of my previous Burn Notice fanfiction **How It Burns**.

You _do not_ have to have read How It Burns as it is set previous to that story line.

I hope you enjoy it.

~ Ryuk In Person ~

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TRIGGER HAPPY

Don Kane had always been one to keep a cool head, the one who held everyone together when a situation went to the dogs. So, as he stared down the barrel of nine equally threatening weapons that could kill him in less than a second if their bearers lived up to their threats, he couldn't work out why he was feeling so jittery.

He pulled a smile over his lips, keeping his gaze steady, almost open though he didn't really believe he would have a connection with the Neanderthals that he was staring at. He buttoned his jacket, forcing an appearance of order even as his mind screamed at him to duck and run. However, knowing that he was the one who had always been able to keep a cool head, another stubborn and irritatingly stupid part of his mind refused to take the flight option. If this was how he was to die, flight wasn't an option. Fighting however, well, that was something he could certainly consider when he figured he could take at least three of the men down before they even squeezed a shot off.

Aware of his Berettas at his back, he opened his hands in the friendliest gesture he could manage that – he hoped – wouldn't land him in a body bag.

'Boys,' he said, trying to thin the thick brogue from his words, knowing that the thugs would probably appreciate a man they could consider a comrade rather than, well, an Irishman. He also had no desire to be called a leprechaun, a term that haunted him at every turn. The name would only irritate him more than the guns that were still aimed at his head.

'Why don't we take a second to relax,' he continued, 'talk this over.'

And still they were aiming…

'You're the one trying to rip us off,' Jones, the lead Neanderthal said.

'I'm giving you what you paid for, and what you paid was only half of the original agreed price that we decided on together, so, you only get half of the weapons,' he said, smile still plastered on his lips. 'If you want the rest, you pay for the rest.'

'Your price was too steep,' another said.

He nearly rolled his eyes. 'Two thirds of the price covers the weapons themselves, the rest is the actual procurement of the items that you want.' He directed their attention to the multiple military grade rifles and machine guns. '_These_ were not easy to find. _These_ were not easy to get my hands on without leaving any trails, another part of my service to you that doesn't come cheap,' he said, barely keeping the bite out of his voice, his accent thicker with every word. 'Now, wire the rest of the money to the account, and I'll send you a friendly message to tell you where the rest of the weapons are.'

The third thug in the line, still yet to speak for the entirety of the meeting, even before the lovely situation he was currently in, finally said, 'it wouldn't be hard to make him tell us where he's got his stashes.'

_Oh great._

Jones actually smiled. 'You know, I was beginning to itch for a good torture session,' he said dropping the weapon an inch, 'and I think that this little leprechaun would certainly squeal.'

He dropped his hands to his sides, still smiling that deliberately bright smile. 'And here I was, thinking that we were getting past some of the issues in our relationship.'

He pulled the Berettas, dropping as he sent shots firing. In the confusion he darted to the side, feeling the bullets whizz past his body, hearing them ricocheting as they bounced off the metal of a the container at his back. He heard yelling, knowing that in his decision to choose both fight and flight, he had severely pissed off his business partners, but he still felt the thrill of adrenaline as he sprinted into the cargo containers. Here, his body would not be found until it was nothing more than bones and – if the Neanderthals were kind enough – untraceable weapons.

It wasn't only his clients that had no trails.

He would forever be known as John Doe, a fate he didn't particularly like the sound of.

He sprinted around a corner, hearing Jones call directions but knowing he had a moment to catch his breath as he slumped against the unforgiving metal of a massive container. He forced air into his lungs, steadying himself before he took off running again, hearing too many sets of pounding footsteps to stage a gun fight and win. He tucked one of the Berettas back into the sling at his back, holding the other with a comfortable grip as he reached to loosen his tie, his black jacket like a furnace in the Miami heat, even in the dark of the night.

He glanced over his shoulders, seeing no one but still hearing pounding footsteps, his gaze drawn forward again just in time to slam into someone.

He stumbled back with the impact, keeping upright while his collision partner fell backwards, a curse escaping their lips. He stared, feeling an eyebrow quirk as the woman stood, her dainty frame so at odds with the weapon in her hands.

'Do you mind?' she asked. 'I'm trying to run away here.'

'You're not the only one.'

She opened her mouth to speak – or curse at him – but her eyes widened and she darted to the left, his mind only catching on when a bullet clipped his suit jacket, millimetres from taking his shoulder. He darted to the left, following her as she disappeared down a gap between containers, the lengthy brown hair that trailed behind her fleeing form the only indication he had of the direction she turned.

Still the footsteps followed them, louder and louder with every trampling beat of the chase. He dared a glance at his shoulder, feeling ice on his spine as he realised that there were more now, more beats in the melody of the chase, and he understood why she had run after their collision.

She was also being chased.

Intrigued – and feeling a little chivalry coming over him at the woman who was clearly in distress – he ran a little faster, a little harder even as his lungs burned for air. He stripped his jacket, knowing that he would regret losing the gorgeous Armani jacket, even if the stronger part of his mind demanded his survival. With gritted teeth he tossed it sky high, reminding himself that it was already ruined thanks to that bullet. With a heavy heart, he saw it land on top of a container before he sprinted past, the black concealed in the darkness of the shadows.

Now, to catch up to that girl.

He held his Beretta firm, catching a glimpse of her hair as she disappeared around another corner. He was gaining, and when she was in sight as they sprinted down a lengthy alley between containers, he took his chance, shooting forward to wrap an arm around her waist, just managing to avoid the elbow that flew towards his nose.

He gripped her tighter, dragging her kicking and flailing into an open container before he closed the door, plunging them into darkness. He turned her, backing her toward the container wall to pin her delicate frame, a hand over her mouth and a finger on her lips as he held her gaze in the darkness.

She stared at him, anger and something else in her eyes, something he knew was confusion as she quirked a brow. He pushed back, releasing her cautiously before he moved to peer through the thin gap in the doors of the container. He watched, hearing no footsteps, but knowing that the men could have slowed their pursuit to perform a more thorough search.

'We don't have much time,' he said, walking the length of the container, checking for anything usable in a fight even though it was empty. All he saw were walls, all rusting away as if the container hadn't moved for decades. He pursed his lips, reaching to his back to grab his other gun, starting when it was gone. He spun on his heel, gawking as she turned it in her hands, examining every inch before she looked up. 'Beretta M9,' she said, an appreciative smile curving her lips, her weapon no where to be seen 'you have good taste.'

He frowned, holding his hand out. 'Give it back.'

'What do I get in return?'

'How about your continued life?' he said, reaching for the weapon and snagging it from her grasp. He checked it before he tucked it back in the sling, ignoring her glare for a moment before he said, 'no one touches my guns other than me.'

'I'm out of ammo and you're just going to leave me, a damsel in distress, with no way to defend myself?' She pouted and he nearly melted, nearly _gave_ her one of his guns at the look that was so innocent, even though he knew she was anything but by the way she had handled the weapon.

'Well, unless that holster on your ankle is just to hold your purse, you've got a way to defend yourself and you're not our of ammo,' he said, throwing her a smile that was only a baring of teeth when she gawked at him, 'so no, I'm not just going to leave you as a damsel in distress, because you obviously know how to take care of yourself.'

She snapped her jaw shut, bending to pull the weapon from the holster before she checked it.

_Yeah,_ he thought as she prepped the weapon and walked to the door, _damsel in distress my ass. _

'Who are you running from?' he asked as he walked the length of the container again, finding a small hole in the side to peer through where the wall had rusted away.

'Oh, just some friends who like to play cops and robbers,' she said, looking through the narrow gap in the door.

'Which are you?' he asked.

She glanced to him, a smile curving her lips. 'I could ask the same of you.'

'And if I'm a cop.'

'Then you're a dirty one, especially with a suit like that, as well as the modified weapons,' she said, gaze following the length of his body, his skin tingling as if caressed when her eyes finally met his, 'oh, but even if you are, that accent of yours sends my knees to jelly, so don't worry, I won't tell anyone.

He quirked a brow at her. 'You know, people don't usually enjoy the sound of my accent. They usually have a few comments about leprechauns, rainbows, gold and wee little clovers when they talk about my accent,' he said, 'so where are yours?'

'No where,' she said, her brogue flowing over him, 'not when I'm used to being called a leprechaun myself.'

'You're Irish?'

She smiled, the look devious. 'Bumping into you was rather lucky.'

'I believe luck wants nothing to do with us, considering we bumped into each other whilst being chased by men with guns.'

'Oh, but it's all in good fun,' she said, voice dropping to a whisper as she backed away from the door, 'especially when they find us in a nice enclosed space like this one.'

She stood beside him at the back of the container, her weapon raised just as his was, a hard look in her eyes that just masked the flicker of fear within her gaze as the door creaked open, two men – the leaders of the different groups – appearing in the opening with weapons raised. As the doors opened further more men were revealed, seemingly united as they all took aim…

At Don.

The woman stepped to the side and no sights followed her. He glanced to the side, watching as she quirked a brow before he looked to the two men that stood at the head of the group, realising that he recognised the one that stood beside Jones.

'Shit,' he muttered before plastering that too-bright smile on his lips, 'Harry, how good to see you.'

'Oh, Kane, I must admit I'm pleased to see you too,' Harry, the leader of the group that had been chasing the mysterious woman said, a brogue as thick as Don's drifting through the container. 'I thought I'd never get to break your legs, just like I'd promised.'

'Oh, come on Harry, it's been years, hasn't it? Why not put the past behind us, move forward as friends rather than enemies for such silly reasons.'

Harry smiled, finger tightening menacingly on the trigger. 'I don't forget it when people cheat me, boy, and that's exactly what you did by selling me those defective weapons back in Ireland. You realise how hard it is to stage a resistance when you can't actually fight?'

'They weren't defective, not really,' Don said, shrugging. 'Actually, I was sure that you were the defective one seeing as you were planning on firing a minigun into a busy street to make a point. So, I…_adjusted_ a few bits and pieces in the weapon before you picked it up to make sure that you couldn't. It's not my fault you know too little about guns to be able to put the appropriate screws back in place, but I guess if you can't fix the loose screws in your own head...'

'You were supposed to be on my side!'

Don froze, flinching as a bullet ricocheted past his feet, his whole body coiled tight for a moment before the thunderous echo of the shot died, engulfed by the metal. He relaxed his muscles, still aware of the heavy pistol in his hands as he looked at Harry before he glanced to Jones. 'It would seem that both of you are rather pissed off at me, so lets just focus on that, let this one go,' he said, pointing a thumb at the woman who still stared at him with curiosity.

'She tried to grab a few guns from my shipment,' Harry said, flicking his weapon her way for a moment, 'I think I'd like to give her the punishment she deserves.'

'Well, I'm sure she's very sorry about that and won't ever do it again, right?'

The woman opened her mouth.

'Right, see. Very sorry,' he said, cutting her off before she could nail her coffin closed, 'but I'm not. Not to either of you.'

Both leaders sneered. 'You're a shit negotiator,' Jones said.

Don shrugged. 'I'm not going to apologise for what I've done. I would tamper with your weapon again Harry to stop you from killing hundreds of innocent people and yes, Jones, if we were to encounter each other in a similar situation and you only payed half of the agreed price, I would still keep half of the weapons.' He levelled a glare at them. 'I take my work very seriously, even if it means I don't get to be friendly with all of my clients.'

Harry shrugged this time. 'Not that you'll have anymore.' He glanced to the woman, a frightening smile on his lips. 'And neither will you, Ms Glenanne.'

They cocked their weapons and Don thought harder than he ever had, trying to remember the layout of the containers around them, a light bulb bursting in his mind. He dodged as the first bullet flew, grabbing Ms Glenanne, covering her body with his own as he threw them at a rusted section of the wall. For a moment he could only see the end of both their lives, the rust holding as the weight of his shoulder slammed against the wall, but oh so beautifully red and orange dust exploded around him and the thinned wall gave way.

Too late.

Pain shattered through him, his side searing as the bullet shot through his flesh. Another hit his calf, his leg collapsing from beneath him.

He pushed her away, clutching his side. 'Run,' he urged, hearing stomping feet as the men sprinted through the container, 'they'll have to be satisfied with me.'

She ignored him, grabbing his Beretta from his hand before she bent to pull his arm over his shoulder, a cry escaping his lips as the movement pulled at his wound, but he gritted his teeth, growling, 'what are you doing?'

'Saving your life,' she said as they took off at as fast a run as he could manage with a leg he could barely stand on, his hand on his side to stop some of the bleeding as they sprinted through the containers. It was a lost battle though, with too many of them following, his blood leaving a trail. 'Can you still shoot?'

'Yes,' he said, taking his Beretta back as she reached into her pocket, pressing a speed dial number, her breath heavy with exertion as she hauled him through the containers.

'Michael,' she said, 'south exit. Now.'

She didn't give him time to hang up; she just snapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into her pocket.

'Just leave me,' he said, feeling a cold sweat break over his skin, blood still gushing steadily from the wound, 'you can still get out of here alive.'

'Yes, and you damn well better be alive too,' she said as they came to a fence, the chain links rising high above their heads, making him beg for a quick death when Harry, Jones and their crews caught up as they followed the fence. She pulled his arm from over her shoulder, forcing him to bend, his teeth grinding against the pain.

But he felt a glimmer of hope as she forced him through a gap, the links cut to make an opening. She followed him, arm around him as she hauled his limping body forward. A light flashed in the distance and he was surprised when he saw a smile light her lips, especially when he heard shouts to order men through the small gap in the fence, one he had barely gotten himself through, even when he made himself as small as his wounds would allow.

The light flashed again, closer this time, so close that the woman flung them to the side as a car screeched to a halt beside them. Shots rang out, muted as pain roared through his mind, made worse by the guns at his back, the metal unforgiving as it tried to bury itself in his spine on impact. For a moment he was only faintly aware of a door being thrown open before he was hauled onto the back seat, the door slammed after him, the sound of another following.

'Who the hell is he?' a voice asked, sounding pissed as Don tried to take a few deep breaths to get past the throbbing in his side and leg, as well as gain a little equilibrium.

'Just drive!'

He opened his eyes as the car lurched, nearly sending him rolling off the back seat as they sped backwards, his stomach churning as the vehicle spun 180. A crash sounded above his head, the glass breaking as a bullet ripped through the back window and then through the front, shards raining over him. He covered his eyes despite the pain in his side, knowing that it he got out of this alive he'd rather deal with the pain and save his sight than risk losing an eye as he heard the rapid change of gears and the powerful roar of the engine that hurtled them away from the men. He figured there was another bonus to covering his eyes as well.

He really wouldn't cope with the blurred lights and scenery, not when he already felt sick with pain that still seared.

But soon the car was slowing, the roar of the engine softening to a purr, and he allowed himself a peek of his surroundings, cracking his eyes open carefully. The interior was nice, well maintained, the leather smooth against his hands as they lay at his side. The lights outside the window were blurring as they passed, but it did not make his stomach churn further. Actually, it calmed him, the repetition of the flashes hypnotizing, lulling him. He would not let himself fall asleep though, not when he could smell the metallic tang of blood as it seeped from his wounds, the pain dulling as the numbness of shock washed over him.

'Why is there a man bleeding all over my back seat, Fi?' that voice asked, very pissed indeed.

'Because she's a stupid woman who should have left me behind,' Don said, pale blue eyes darting to the rear view mirror to glare at him.

'That's okay. Glad I could save your life,' Ms Glenanne – well, he guessed she was called Fi, probably Fiona – said, 'I can see you're so grateful.'

'Believe me, I am, but I'm not worth saving,' he said, 'you should have gotten yourself out rather than risking yourself to save a sod like me.'

'Too late,' the voice said, 'and you better live, because you'll be cleaning that leather.'

Don just stopped himself from laughing, knowing that it would be more pain than what it was worth. He reached to cover the wound at the front, glad that that bullet had passed straight through, hoping that it had left his insides intact as he forced his mind to kick into action. He couldn't pass out, couldn't let the black in his gaze take over his sight.

'I hope we're close to a hospital,' he said as his vision wavered, 'because I'm struggling here.'

There was movement and cursing in the front seat, the car swerving for a moment before hands covered his. He forced his eyes open, surprised to see Fi climbing into the back seat to bat his hand away and press her own to the wound. 'Don't worry,' she said, surprising him further when she took one of his hand, squeezing it for a moment, 'we'll take care of you.'

He held her gaze, letting his eyes wander over her face, smiling even as the blackness continued to drift in his vision. 'You know, I'm glad I got to see such a beautiful woman before I died.'

'You're not going to die, not when you owe me an explanation for what happened back there.'

'Oh, that's easy,' he said, 'I run a clean and untraceable business, and for that I don't take lightly to people trying to rip me off on price. I guess they were both a little more pissed off at me than they were at you.'

'But what about Harry? He talked about sides, about a resistance,' she said. 'You were in the IRA, weren't you?'

He pursed his lips. 'Once upon a time,' he said. 'I enjoyed it too, but the deaths, the innocent people who fall…There's no way that doesn't get to you after a while.'

'I understand,' she said, voice so low he nearly didn't hear her. 'I like a good explosion and I'll be the first to admit that I'm not afraid of pulling the trigger, but when innocents were dying just to make a point, I got out.'

He smiled. 'Seems we have more in common that I first thought.'

She scoffed. 'You wish.'

Fiona Glenanne – stubborn, caring, beautiful, tough, wild and just that little bit dangerous – was an intriguing woman. As his eyes closed and he gave into the darkness that crept over his vision, he heard her telling him to stay awake, to stay with her, but all he could think was, _if I live, I'll marry this woman… _

THE END


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